


In The House of Gondor

by LuckyPanda13



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Aragorn Is Amused, F/M, Faramir Is Adorable, Fluff, M/M, Éomer Is Shy, Éomer Plays Matchmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyPanda13/pseuds/LuckyPanda13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Éomer finds his sister in the Houses of Healing, he also finds Faramir and immediately falls for the Captain of Gondor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Éomer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvanescentDreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanescentDreamer/gifts).



Éomer could not move. The image of his sister, paler than he had ever seen her, paler than even her nickname implied, unmoving on a bed frightened him beyond belief. When he had spotted her on the battlefield, panic and anger filled him and he lost his mind, brutally attacking every enemy in his sight for vengeance. Now that he knew she was alive, but barely, he did not know what to do, what to think. She was his baby sister. He had taught her everything she knew of fighting. He had teasingly tormented her into disguising herself and fighting in battle. It was his fault. He had always taken care of her. It was his job. Even after Théoden adopted them, it had always been Éomer’s self-proclaimed job to care for her and ensure she was safe. That was why he taught her swordplay. He knew that he would not always be around to care for her, so he taught her the basics. Nothing was supposed to happen to her. First Théodred, then Théoden, now Éowyn…

“She is healing, Éomer.” Aragorn’s voice jolted the man from his thoughts. “She will have to remain here for at least a fortnight for her to fully recover. She had severe Black Breath, but we caught it quickly, so she should survive. There is nothing more to be done. You should rest.” Aragorn did not need to say that the meeting with all the commanders the next day would be hellish.

“Thank you.” Éomer managed to get out before Aragorn left him. Aragorn shot him a tired smile before moving on to the next patient. He watched the chest of his sister rise and fall slowly, too slowly for her to be sleeping naturally, for a long time before he could convince himself to look away again. A groan of pain caught his attention and he looked over at the man Aragorn was tending to and felt his heart stop.

Éomer had never properly met Faramir, but there was no other person it could be. He had been privileged to meet Boromir once, when they were much younger, and all the older man would talk about was the brilliance of his younger brother. The resemblance between the brothers was striking. Had Éomer not known of his death, he would have thought that the man on the bed was Boromir. A second, cursory look showed Éomer how different Faramir looked, compared to his brother. Faramir had the same hair, same eyes, even the same nose, but his build was slighter, less of a warrior and more of a ranger. Éomer had known for a long time that he appreciated men more so than women, but his appreciation of Faramir’s physique was a little frightening, all things considered.

“This will take the poison from your wound.” Aragorn promised softly, mashing an herb with water in his hands. Faramir was covered in sweat and his chest heaved with fever, but his grey eyes were conscious, intelligent, and observant.

“Athelas.” He croaked out, eyeing the herb in Aragorn’s fingers. Aragorn smiled, but didn’t respond. Faramir flinched weakly as Aragorn pressed the herb into the bright red wound on his side, gasping at the sting. His knuckles were stark white with the pain as he struggled not to attack Aragorn. Éomer felt a stab of admiration for his self-control. Faramir’s eyes closed briefly and when they opened, they stopped on Éomer. Embarrassed that he had been caught, Éomer went to the other side of Faramir’s bed and took his fist tightly, silently offering support and help in attempting to  _not_  throw Aragorn off him.

“That will need to be changed tomorrow.” Aragorn sighed, wrapping the wound back up with clean bandages. Faramir nodded, though Éomer could see the despair in his eyes. Éomer  _really_  did not want to experience the pain Faramir was going through.

“Thank you, my king.” Faramir’s voice was miserable and Éomer handed him a goblet of water without thinking. Aragorn looked briefly startled at Faramir’s response, but threw his tired smile back on quickly. Faramir drank deeply from the goblet while Aragorn thought of a reply.

“Thank Éomer.” He said. “You’d probably have punched me if he hadn’t stepped in.”

“Yes.” Faramir shot Éomer a grateful, if exhausted, smile. “Thank you.”

“Get some rest.” Éomer stole Aragorn’s words, making Aragorn snort lightly and leave them. He took the goblet from the man. “Let the herb do its work.” Faramir did not reply, but he was asleep by the time Éomer had returned the goblet to its place and returned to Éowyn’s bedside.

For the rest of the day, Éomer ignored Aragorn’s advice and kept a steady watch on Éowyn. And Faramir. He couldn’t help watching the man. There was nothing to do for Éowyn, since she was still passed out and her body was taking care of the Black Breath itself. Faramir’s fever kept him sweating and Éomer knew from experience how uncomfortable that would be when the Captain finally woke up. While keeping one eye on his sister, as always, Éomer found a shallow basin and a cloth and cleaned the sweat from Faramir’s face and neck. He made a cold compress and left on Faramir’s head, hoping his fever would break. Each time Faramir woke in a daze, Éomer handed him a goblet of water and ensured he had enough to drink before he passed out again.

“Thank you.” Faramir muttered every single time before falling asleep again. Éomer maintained his vigil over his two charges, ignoring his own needs. At some point, Aragorn returned, checking on all the patients, and looked both unsurprised and mildly annoyed at Éomer. When Aragorn finally left the Houses, he sent Éomer a plate of food with the strict orders to “eat something before you pass out”. Obediently, Éomer ate the food, but nearly choked when he saw Éowyn’s eyes flutter open. He probably looked like a mess when he stumbled over to her bedside, but he didn’t care. She was awake.

“Éowyn.” He smiled in relief and her eyes met his. A small smile flitted over her features for a brief moment before pain filled them. Éomer had been taking care of her long enough to know what the pain meant. “He is with Théodred now. Do not allow his death to take you, too.” The sad smile fell back on her face when she spotted the pain in his.

“How could I leave you alone, ‘Mer? You’d be lost without me.” Her voice was hardly recognizable from the pain. Relief filled him and he hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair gratefully. Tears of relief pricked at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, burying his worry and relief deep in his chest. Éowyn had no such qualms, so her tears broke free without a fight.

“I was worried, ‘Wyn. I’m glad you’re safe.” He said. “Next time you want to go into battle, please let me know  _before_  you decide to take on the Witch King of Angmar.” Éowyn burst out laughing and she wiped at her face, still crying through her laughter.

“You’re not mad?” She mumbled.

“I’m furious.” Éomer kissed her forehead. “But I know better than to get between you and what you want. Plus, you  _killed_  the Witch King. How could I be mad when I’m so proud?”

“Thank you, ‘Mer.” The siblings hugged again, their bodies relaxing as their worry fled their minds. A low groan followed by coughing had Éomer halfway to Faramir’s bed before he realized what happened. He took the cloth from Faramir’s forehead and handed the man the water, cooling the cloth in the small basin. Faramir downed the goblet and fell asleep almost instantly after murmuring his thanks. Éomer replaced the cloth on his forehead, gladly noting how his fever was slowly breaking, before refilling the goblet and returning to Éowyn’s bedside. The look on her face and the quirk of her brow made Éomer blush, something he forgot he was capable of.

“Is there something you should be telling me, ‘Mer?” A knowing smirk on her features. She knew his attentions tended towards men rather than women.

“That’s Faramir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor.” Éomer ignored the question, hoping that his sister would forget her original question.

“Mmhmm.” Éowyn looked over at the sleeping man before focusing her eyes back to her brother. “Is there something you should be telling me, brother?” She repeated. Éomer shoved his face into his hands, groaning. He should have known better than to hope she’d leave it alone.

“Is it that obvious?” He asked, peering at her from between his fingers.

“Only because I am your sister.” Éowyn said sagely. “He’s quite handsome, your captain.”

“Éowyn!” Éomer frowned at his sister, hoping his chastising face would make her stop.

“You were taking care of him almost before he needed caring.” She explained, patiently. “You are kind, brother, but you focus your kindness on those you care about. Also, your face was the softest I have ever seen. I’ve never seen you so gentle, not even with me.”

“But ‘Wyn–”

“Oh, I know you love me, ‘Mer.” She waved his protest away. “But this Faramir is something different.”

“I hardly know him!” Éomer argued.

“That appears to matter little.” Éowyn retorted.

“You seem to be in fine spirits after battling Black Breath and dealing with a broken arm.” Éomer was  _not_  pouting. Éowyn smiled.

“I have my elder brother to watch over me and he’s finally found the person for him. I have every right to be in fine spirits.” Neither of them mentioned how lonely  _she_  was. Éomer knew he wouldn’t be able to be properly happy until Éowyn was happy. He couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t love her, but he knew that her love was not so easily won.

“Let us talk no more of it.” Éomer pouted.

“Would you rather discuss what will happen now?” Éowyn asked.

“Aragorn would have us go to the Black Gates of Mordor to draw them out.” Éomer replied, his spirits dropping.

“The…” Éowyn froze, mouth open in surprise. “A distraction?”

“To buy the hobbits time to get to Mount Doom.” Aragorn had told him everything about their quest to destroy the One Ring. “If we can give them the opportunity to destroy Sauron once and for all, it will be worth the sacrifice.”

“I wish I could ride with you.” Éowyn sighed.

“I know you do.” Éomer smiled, brushing her hair out of her face. “But I am glad you cannot, if only to know you are safe.”

“As safe as I can be.” She muttered. “If this fails, Gondor will be the first to fall.”

“Then I’ll just have to ensure that we don’t fail.” Éomer threw a bit of bravado on to show her he was trying to make her smile, even though he was completely serious about ensuring no evil reached her. Éowyn rolled her eyes, a smile flitting across her features before a yawn overtook her. “I’ve kept you awake long enough.” He kissed her forehead again. “Sleep. I will take care of you.”

“You always do, ‘Mer.”

“It’s my job, ‘Wyn.” When she was safely asleep again, working off the rest of the Black Breath, Éomer glanced over at Faramir, who had apparently regained consciousness at some point during his conversation with Éowyn and was drinking water quietly. Éomer got up and returned to the Captain of Gondor’s bedside.

“I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced.” Faramir smiled at him gently. Éomer’s heart raced. “I’m Faramir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor.”

“I recognize you.” Éomer admitted. “And the guards here speak very highly of you. I am Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, and heir to the throne of Rohan. Well…”

“What?” Faramir blinked in confusion at Éomer’s hesitation. Éomer abruptly realized that the captain had been unconscious since before the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

“King Théoden, my uncle, died on the fields earlier today.” Éomer explained. “So, I am king in almost every way but technically.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Faramir’s smile fell. “You seem to be in the same boat as Aragorn.”

“Yes.” Éomer sighed, running his fingers through his tangled hair. “Two men who do not know politics and who have no education regarding ruling countries who are expected to become kings overnight and lead the world into peace, despite the looming threat of Sauron.”

“I’m sorry.” Faramir winced.

“Do not be.” Éomer waved his concern away. “I have long since come to terms with my fate. You are looking much better than you did.”

“Thanks to my bedside nurse.” Faramir chuckled. Éomer felt heat bloom on his face and promptly ignored it.

“I’d apologize, except I don’t feel sorry at all.” He replied. Faramir smiled.

“Your wife?” He indicated Éowyn’s bed.

“ _No!_ ” Éomer spluttered. “Éowyn is my sister. She fought in the battle with the Rohirrim for reasons that are partially my fault, and she fought and killed the Witch King.”

“The Witch King of Angmar?!” Faramir gasped, jaw dropping. His brows furrowed lightly. “How is that your fault?”

“I tried to keep her from the battle.” And then Éomer was telling the captain all the details of Éowyn’s training and how he had basically taunted her into joining them, which he still felt guilty about. Faramir was laughing at one of the times Éowyn had tricked him into teaching her more swordplay when despair crossed his features and sadness filled his eyes. Éomer fought the urge to touch the man’s face.

“I apologize.” Faramir shook his head and stared down at his hands. “It’s just… I haven’t… My brother… You are a talented storyteller, Éomer.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Faramir.” Éomer replied. “Boromir was a great man.”

“And now my father is dead as well.” Faramir sighed. “I loved him, too, despite…”

“Despite?” Éomer had heard many stories and rumors about the relationship between the Steward of Gondor and his younger son. With every story he heard, Éomer was grateful he had never met the man. He had a feeling he wouldn’t have liked Denethor much.

“He was still my father despite his faults.” Faramir finished.

“My uncle, Théoden, basically raised Éowyn and me.” Éomer took the stress from Faramir’s shoulders. He started talking about the pain of being orphaned and having to care for a young Éowyn by himself as a child before their uncle took them in. The wounds had long since healed and the pain had long since been lost to time, but Éomer still felt odd about telling the darkness of his past to Faramir, who was such a creature of the light. He shifted his stories to focus on the mischief he, Éowyn, and Théodred got into while growing up. He brought Faramir back to laughter quickly and the tension he didn’t realize had settled in his gut relaxed.

“Boromir and I used to get into scraps like that.” Faramir laughed. The sadness flickered behind his eyes for a moment but the happy memory took him over and then Éomer was regaled with tale after tale of the happy childhood between the brothers with the occasional solemn interruption by Denethor. Éomer found himself laughing, something that hadn’t happened lately. He had forgotten how much joy there was in laughter, which admittedly, sounded stupid, but wartime left little cause for merriment. Coughing tore his attention back to his sister.

“Are you all right?” Éomer asked, handing his sister a goblet before he realized he had moved. He glanced back at Faramir, who looked more amused than anything else. Éowyn didn’t look much better than she did when she was lying prone on the battlefield, but being awake was a definite improvement.

“Fine.” Éowyn smiled after she had sipped some water. “Don’t worry so much, brother.”

“Now, you know better than that, ‘Wyn.” Éomer smiled. “I worry about everything.”

“It’s why you will be a good king.” She replied. “Your kindness causes you to worry.”

“I think it’s my little sister who doesn’t know how to quit the field when the Witch King is attacking her.” Éomer rolled his eyes. Éowyn laughed and sipped more water, beckoning him closer.

“How’s your captain?” She murmured softly. Éomer frowned.

“I’m not going to woo a man on his sickbed when I have to go off to war in a few days from which I likely will not return.” Éomer replied.

“Don’t take that tone with me, ‘Mer.” His sister glowered at him. “And you  _will_  survive. If you don’t, I’m going to hurt you.” Éomer sighed.

“I promise that I will try to survive, ‘Wyn.”

“Go back to your captain.” Éowyn ordered. “I am going to rest.” Obediently, Éomer took the goblet from her to place it on a table before kissing her hand and returning to Faramir’s bedside.

“Is she all right?” Faramir asked, concern deep in his voice. It occurred to Éomer that he didn’t even know if the captain would be receptive to his attentions. Perhaps he would be happier with his sister. Then Éowyn would have someone, too.

“Yes. Her Black Breath was caught quickly, according to Aragorn. He said she’ll be stuck here for a fortnight, though. She won’t be pleased.” Éomer said.

“He said as much to me.” Faramir admitted. “I admit that I am not pleased, either, but I do understand the importance of allowing myself to heal. Gondor will need me.”

“You should try explaining that to Éowyn.” Éomer sighed, trying to run his fingers through his hair in his agitation and realizing that he couldn’t pull his fingers through the tangles and snarls brought about from the battle. He hadn’t done any form of grooming at all between the battle and his steady watch in the Houses. Faramir’s eyes lighted on the tick and a bemused smile lit up his face.

“You should take better care of yourself, Éomer.” He said.

“Yes, Éomer, you should.” Aragorn’s voice made both men jump and Faramir twitched in pain. “I’m sorry, Faramir. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Faramir sighed. “Ready to get out of this bed.”

“Well, your fever has broken.” Aragorn checked out his patient. “But the infection is not gone. I’ll change out the athelas in the morning before the meeting with the commanders.”

“Thank you.” Faramir nodded. “Now, can you talk some sense into this one?” He gestured at Éomer, who blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“Yes.” Aragorn turned to the Rohirrim. “Éomer, you need to bathe. You have scratches and bruises and cuts from the battle and you haven’t kept any of them clean. You could have an infection, which could keep you from the battle.” Éomer flushed bright red and clenched his teeth. “As do you, Faramir.” Faramir’s snickers abruptly stopped. “You will have to clean up eventually, and I’d rather you do it before the oil and dirt and ash on your skin infects your wound again. Actually, Éomer, could you assist Faramir? He won’t have the movement ability to clean himself appropriately.”

“Uh…” Éomer knew his eyes were huge and his face was red and he felt utterly absurd.

“Thanks.” Aragorn took his hesitation for an answer and moved over to Éowyn’s bedside. When she answered him readily, Éomer  _knew_  she had been eavesdropping. He mentally swore and looked at Faramir, whose face was bright red and adorable.

“I can get someone else to assist you if you’d rather.” Éomer said, drawing the captain’s attention.

“Oh. No.” Faramir cleared his throat. “It’s fine. I trust my nurse over anyone else anyway.” Éomer forced back his blush and helped Faramir rise from the bed. True to Aragorn’s words, the captain was stiff and his wounded side was not helping matters any.

“I can carry you, if you’d prefer.” Éomer offered. Faramir’s blush intensified.

“I’d rather maintain some dignity.” He asserted stubbornly.

“As you wish.” Éomer helped Faramir hobble his way towards the bathing rooms. Each small bath was separate from all of the others in order to maintain some privacy between those housed in the Houses. Éomer led him to one that was larger than the others, allowing for multiple people in the bath and rolled his eyes at the towels, bandages, and variety of soaps that Aragorn had obviously laid out. The man was nothing if not annoying with his caretaking. How the king had known which bath he would go into was beyond Éomer, but he stopped bothering to question him.

“Here, sit down.” Éomer helped Faramir onto a stone bench and waited for the captain to regain his breath.

“Thank you.” Faramir replied, finally. “That was… unpleasant.”

“Are you all right?” Éomer asked.

“I’m fine.” Faramir waved his concern away. Éomer decided to start removing his clothes, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to help Faramir properly from outside the bath. He took his boots off, following by his shirt and undershirt when he glanced at the captain. Faramir’s eyes were wide and staring at Éomer’s chest, his face bright red. A weight lifted itself from Éomer’s chest. Faramir preferred men, it seemed. He smiled to himself and cleared his throat. Faramir’s eyes shot up to Éomer’s and his face turned even redder, if it was possible.

“Do you need some assistance?” Éomer asked gently, knowing better than to blatantly seduce the captain. Faramir shook his head and tried to shift the nightshirt he had on off his form, but hissed as he stretched his wound. Snorting, Éomer walked over to the captain and gently pried the shirt from Faramir’s form, allowing his eyes to appreciate the finer details to Faramir’s bared torso for a long moment. He glanced up at Faramir, who was still flushed, and smiled.

“Thank you.” Faramir muttered, stiffly.

“That’s why I’m here, is it not?” Éomer replied. “Come. If you don’t bathe, Aragorn will have my hide.” Faramir smiled and bowed his head, letting his hair obscure his features for a moment. Éomer waited for the captain to nod before he helped him upright. Faramir managed his pants by himself while Éomer got his own off. Stubbornly, Éomer refused to take in Faramir’s naked glory, feeling mildly inappropriate for taking advantage of the situation the captain was in. Silently, he helped the captain into the bath and had him sitting at the underwater bench before he got into himself.

“Thank you.” Faramir sighed into the relaxing warmth of the bath. “My bandages are wet, though.”

“I think that’s what those are for.” Éomer said dryly, gesturing to the stack of bandages directly next to the stack of towels. Faramir glanced over and snorted.

“Aragorn’s such a mother.”

“Yes, he is.” Éomer chuckled, grabbing a bar of soap and starting to scrub his skin.

“Come here.” Faramir ordered. Éomer glanced at the other man, who looked amused. He slid over to the captain and Faramir took the soap from him and started washing the skin of his arm gently. Éomer watched the man as the dirt, ash, and varieties of blood was slowly rubbed from his skin and into the water.

“Thank you.” Éomer muttered.

“You’ve been taking care of me.” Faramir replied. “I am merely showing my gratitude.”

“Speaking of caring for you…” Éomer eyed the dirt and ash on the other man’s skin. Faramir shrugged.

“One thing at a time.” He said. Éomer chuckled and allowed Faramir to continue his thorough cleaning on his arms, chest, and back. Faramir didn’t dare venture below the water, much to Éomer’s amusement.

“I can get the rest.” He offered at the dark blush Faramir was desperately trying to hide. Silently, Faramir handed him the soap and Éomer stood on the bench to better reach his lower torso and legs. He was excruciatingly thorough in his washing, but didn’t realize he had garnered much attention from his charge until he dropped back into the water to rinse the suds from his body. Faramir’s eyes were wide and focused deeply on the water around him, alerting Éomer to the knowledge that Faramir had likely been watching him the entire time.

“You need to clean your hair.” Faramir finally worked up the courage to look at Éomer again. Éomer sighed and tugged the tie out of his hair painfully. He submerged completely, knowing his hair was going to be a mess. “Sit down.” Faramir ordered. Éomer obediently sat next to his charge, passing him the bottle of liquid soap Aragorn had left. Gentle fingers washed his hair thoroughly albeit painfully. Faramir made Éomer rinse his hair between washings until he could get his fingers through the dirty blond hair without resistance.

“Thank you.” Éomer wrung as much water from his hair as he could before looking at the captain of Gondor with a bemused smirk. “Now, you have to quit avoiding letting me help you, because you need to get clean, too.” Faramir flushed and bit down on his lip. “I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Faramir muttered. Éomer knew he wasn’t supposed to have heard the words, so he wisely ignored them.

“Relax, Faramir.” Éomer said, dropping his voice into the deep, soothing tones that always calmed Éowyn and Firefoot. He waited for Faramir to nod his consent before sitting next to the man and using the bar of soap to gently clear the skin of the dirt and ash. Years of experience with helping bathe Éowyn when she was little, and Théodred when they got older gave Éomer the gentle efficiency of cleaning the skin while simultaneously relaxing the muscles beneath. Faramir groaned and dropped his head back onto the edge of the bath, his eyes fluttering shut in appreciation. Éomer worked silently, cleaning and relaxing every inch of skin and every muscle above the surface of the water, avoiding anything beneath to keep Faramir comfortable. He cupped water in his palms and slowly rinsed the suds from the soft skin in his reach.

“You are amazing.” Faramir murmured, his voice soft and lazy in relaxation.

“Thank you.” Éomer chuckled. “But you are only half-clean, Faramir. Would you like to finish the job?” Faramir’s eyes snapped open in realization and turned bright red.

“Uh, yes.” He stuttered out. Éomer passed him the bar of soap and turned around with the pretense of busying himself with his hair and getting water out of it so Faramir would feel more comfortable. He heard the water drip behind him and kept his back turned, reaching for a towel to dry his hair more efficiently. He waited for Faramir to clear his throat before he dropped the towel and turned back to his charge.

“Shall I help with your hair?” Éomer asked. Faramir started to shrug but flinched in pain as his wound was stretched again. Éomer used the same process Faramir used to clean the captain’s hair and get rid of the tangles, albeit with much more practice and surety. Faramir once again relaxed into Éomer’s touch, practically purring while Éomer’s fingers slid through the locks and cleaning them thoroughly. Finally, the water rinsed the hair clean and Éomer chuckled at the puddle of a man relaxing against his chest.

“Faramir?” The man merely grunted in response. Rolling his eyes fondly, Éomer slid around his charge and gathered him in his arms, stepping out of the warm pool before Faramir realized what was happening. The captain shivered in the cold and opened his eyes sleepily. Éomer sat him down on the bench and wrapped a towel around his shoulders, drying the damp skin gently and with the same relaxing massage with which he cleaned said skin. Faramir was so close to falling asleep that he didn’t even flinch when Éomer started drying below the waist. He  _did_  flinch when Éomer pulled off the soaked bandage and redressed the still burning red wound with dry bandages. The discomfort didn’t last long, because when he started on Faramir’s hair, the man groaned in pleasure as a yawn wracked his body. Éomer chuckled in amusement and helped Faramir redress himself in the clean clothes Aragorn had also thoughtfully provided before dressing himself quickly.

“Thank…” Faramir mumbled, trying to keep his eyes open.

“You’re very welcome.” Éomer replied, combing out the dark brown locks gently. Faramir fell asleep not long after Éomer had started, making him chuckle to himself. He tugged the comb through his hair quickly before tying it back and looking at the slumbering captain on his chest. He shifted Faramir into his arms and carried him back to his bed, ignoring the bright grin from Éowyn and the snickering from Aragorn from where they were sitting. He settled Faramir back in his bed before returning to his sister’s bedside.

“Not one word, ‘Wyn.” He ordered, shooting his sister a glower. She snickered, but kept her lips firmly shut.

“You look much better when you’ve taken care of yourself properly.” Aragorn noted, wisely not mentioning Faramir. “And when you’re caring for another.” Or not so wisely, it seemed.

“I’ll knock you out,  _my liege_.” Éomer retorted. Aragorn rolled his eyes.

“Not you, too.” He groaned. “I’m getting enough of that from the guards.”

“Payback.” Éomer smiled.

“Well, stop it.” Aragorn grinned. “Don’t forget to eat.”

“Yes, thank you,  _mom_.” Éomer rolled his eyes.

“Éowyn, make sure this stubborn fool eats.” Aragorn smiled at the woman. Éowyn grinned in response. “And get more rest. The Black Breath has not released you, yet.” He walked to Faramir’s bed to double-check Éomer’s redressing of the wound before leaving the Houses.

“So…” Éowyn held the word out for a long time.

“Éowyn…” Éomer narrowed his eyes dangerously at his sister.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense!” Éowyn whined. “Does he appreciate you the way you appreciate him?”

“Appreciate.” Éomer snorted at the word choice. “All signs indicate so, yes.” Éowyn grinned.

“See? You’ll have him before you know it.”

“And then I’ll go fight Sauron’s armies at the Black Gates.” Éomer pointed out. “Even  _if_  I survive, I’ll have to go be king. A king must have an heir.” Éowyn frowned at him, the dark circles around her eyes worrying Éomer even as he grew fondly annoyed with her perseverance.

“So adopt one.” She argued. “There are more than enough orphans from this war for you to have as many children as anyone could hope for. And if you  _must_  have a blood heir, you know that my future children will always be available for that.”

“Well, looks like we’ll just have to find you a man.” Éomer said, eyeing the other patients in the Houses. “Perhaps a nice guard? Maybe a man who fought on the Fields beside you?” Éowyn’s eyes clouded with both pain and loneliness, but Éomer ignored it, knowing how to make her feel better. “Maybe you need a man of Gondor. I hear they are quite the lovers.”

“Éomer!” She gasped, affronted.

“Well, obviously the Rohirrim aren’t doing anything for you, so we need to find someone else.” Éomer shrugged. “Oh!” He gasped, like he had discovered a big secret. “An  _elf_!”

“Éomer!”

“That’s it!” He grinned at her. “You want an attractive elf as your husband!”

“You’re such a…” Éowyn bit back a rather unladylike word that made Éomer laugh. She was annoyed with him, but she had forgotten her loneliness for the moment.

“Don’t worry.” He said solemnly. “I won’t hurt your elf-man. Much.”

“I’m going to kill you.” She swore, glowering at him.

“First, you need to rest.” Éomer ordered. “You can kill me later.” Éowyn grumbled for a few more minutes, but finally dropped off into a slumber. Éomer watched over his two charges for the remainder of the day, though neither woke again. He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep on his watch until he startled awake the next morning, masterfully avoiding falling out of his chair. When he regained his senses and looked around, he spotted Faramir and Éowyn sitting on the same bed and snickering at him. He glowered at them and felt abruptly terrified that his sister had talked for any length of time to the captain.

“What are you two doing?” He asked warily. Éowyn burst out laughing, the dark circles under her eyes much less than they had been the day before, making the knot in Éomer’s chest loosen. Éomer  _hated_  that laugh, because it inevitably meant mischief.

“Good morning.” Aragorn joined them before either of the troublemakers could reply. “Faramir, I’ll change the athelas in a moment. I’d like to check Éowyn, first, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Faramir got off the bed and gingerly returned to his bed. Éomer got up and moved to his sister’s side, watching Aragorn check her over.

“You’re much better than yesterday, but you’ll have to remain here in the Houses for at least ten more days.” Aragorn said. “The Black Breath has stolen your energy, so you wouldn’t be able to do much even if you weren’t bedridden. I’d rather have you here so you can be cared for with ease.” Éowyn opened her mouth to argue when she saw Éomer’s narrowed gaze.

“Thank you, Aragorn.” Éomer spoke up.

“Rest, Éowyn. You need it.” Aragorn said gently, moving to his next patient. Éomer pressed a kiss to his sister’s forehead before following Aragorn to Faramir’s bedside. Aragorn peeled the bandage back and a sour smell emanated from the wound. Faramir flinched and looked away from the king, who seemed to have expected the foul scent. Éomer stood on the other side of the bed, offering Faramir his hand. He took it tightly and gritted his teeth as Aragorn pulled the now-black athelas from the wound.

“This will hurt.” Aragorn warned. Éomer leaned over Faramir, pressing his weight down on him so Aragorn could do his work. Faramir hissed and bit down on his lip, his body struggling to surge away from the stinging pain the athelas was providing. It took less than a minute for Aragorn to finish and wrap up the wound, but Faramir nearly dislodged Éomer three times in that time span.

“Thank you for your help, Éomer.” Aragorn sighed. “I’m sorry for the pain, Faramir.”

“How does it look?” Éomer asked, taking his weight off the other man.

“Better.” Aragorn nodded. “It shouldn’t need any more athelas to remove the infection. Tomorrow, it can be removed completely and the rest should heal on its own without problems. That being said, you can’t do anything strenuous until it heals, so you should stay here in the Houses for at least a week.”

“Thank you, my king.” Faramir breathed out.

“Rest.” Aragorn ordered. “Éomer, I have to check on the others, but I should be ready to go to the meeting soon. Will you wait for me?”

“Of course.” Éomer nodded. Aragorn returned to his other patients.

“Thank you.” Faramir sighed. “Again.”

“It’s nothing.” Éomer smiled before the nagging thought attacked him again, making him narrow his eyes in suspicion. “What did you talk to my sister about?”

“My cousins.” Faramir replied, chuckling at Éomer’s paranoia. “I had three cousins who fought the other day. I know not what happened to them, but all three are unmarried.” There was a twinkle in his eye that Éomer could only associate with mischief.

“Why, my dear captain, are you trying to set my sister up with your cousin?”

“Wherever did you get that idea?” Faramir grinned. Éomer chuckled.

“Thank you.” He murmured. “You have no idea how much pain she’s been through.”

“I think that Erchirion or Amrothos would be best for her. Probably Amrothos, but she might take to Erchirion better. I’m almost positive she wouldn’t like Elphir much. I think you would like their younger sister, Lothíriel.” Faramir admitted.

“I’m sure she’s lovely, but I’d rather have my sister meet these cousins of yours.” Éomer admitted. Faramir smiled.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Faramir said. “I am feeling much better today, so I’m sure I could have something sent to Lothíriel in order to figure out the whereabouts of her brothers.”

“Thank you.” Éomer said, gratefully. “I should check on my sister.” Faramir nodded and Éomer went to the other bed.

“He likes you.” Éowyn confided softly. “I can tell.”

“Oh, really?” Éomer rolled his eyes at his sister.

“Yes.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “And he doesn’t know how to show you.”

“He doesn’t have to; I know already.” Éomer smiled, shaking his head.

“So, what are you going to do?” Éowyn’s eyes brightened in excitement.

“I don’t know.” Éomer fondly brushed some hair from her face. “But, let’s talk about Faramir’s cousins for a minute.”

“I know you two are trying to set me up with one of them, but it’s not going to work, ‘Mer.” She sighed. “You don’t even know them. What if you don’t like them? What if they don’t like me? What if  _I_  don’t like them?”

“Listen to me, ‘Wyn,” Éomer ordered, looking into her eyes, “You are beautiful and strong and kind. Any man would be an idiot if he didn’t like you. Plus, Faramir wouldn’t lead you astray. He knows them better than anyone else you know and he thinks you’d get along with Amrothos the best, though Erchirion was a close second in his mind. I trust Faramir’s opinion on this. And, let’s say you don’t get along with either of them. We’ll find you a different man who isn’t an ass.”

“Éomer!” Éowyn smiled wryly at his curse.

“Trust me.” Éomer pressed a kiss to her forehead. “There is  _someone_  out there who will love you for everything you are. Well, someone besides me.”

“Thanks, ‘Mer.”

“Are you ready, Éomer?” Aragorn returned to his side.

“Yes.” Éomer smiled at his sister and threw a nod at Faramir before leaving the Houses of Healing for the first time since he entered them.

He returned that evening after hours of arguing with old men who had no idea what was at stake, significantly more annoyed at the people supposedly “in charge” of Gondor and Rohan and significantly less enthused about the resulting trip to the Black Gates. Both his sister and Faramir were sleeping, so he collapsed into the chair midway between their beds and rubbed at his temples, wondering if he could just sleep through the march out and get away with it. He promptly decided that as the future King of Rohan he had no choice and needed to stop whining to himself.

“What’s wrong, Éomer?” Éomer looked up to see Faramir, awake but still drowsy and starting at him with worry in his grey eyes.

“Just the end of the world as we know it.” Éomer replied, smiling tiredly. “Don’t worry about it. That’s my job.”

“You shouldn’t have to bear that burden alone.” Faramir sat upright. Éomer shrugged.

“In all likelihood, I’ll die before I  _have_  to bear it.” Éomer replied. “And if I don’t, then the world didn’t end and I don’t have to bear it at all.” Faramir frowned at Éomer’s cavalier attitude about his life. He scowled thoughtfully at the king for a long moment before he stood up. Immediately, Éomer got to his feet and went to Faramir’s side for support.

“You’ll support me, but you won’t allow me to do the same?” Faramir said, his eyebrow quirking up.

“Of course not.” Éomer teased. “I am, of course, always going to use double-standards to my advantage.”

“To your downfall.” Faramir muttered, glowering.

“It is not a worry I want to burden your shoulders with while you are still healing.” Éomer explained. “Your focus should be getting well, not all the potential what-ifs involved in launching a campaign of the magnitude we are launching two days hence.”

“The day after next?” Faramir’s brow furrowed. “So soon?” Éomer contemplated leaving and forcing the captain to rest, but Faramir was leaning on Éomer, whether out of necessity or manipulation, Éomer wasn’t sure. But, Éomer wasn’t about to abandon the captain in case he actually  _did_  require the help.

“We must arrive at the Black Gates quickly so we might give the hobbits a clear shot to Mount Doom.” Éomer finally answered.

“Frodo and Sam.” Faramir muttered. “I hope no harm has befallen them.”

“They were in your care?” Éomer asked.

“For a time.” Faramir admitted. “I sent them on their way with provisions. A creature, Sméagol he was called, was travelling with them. I do not trust him and I hope they don’t trust him either. He will lead them to ruin.”

“Both Gandalf and Aragorn seem sure that the hobbits are alive.” Éomer said. “The hobbits I have met are strong folk. They are quite easily overlooked, which will be their greatest asset if we are to succeed.”

“Will you help me to the balcony?” Faramir asked. “I haven’t seen my city since I left to go fight for Osgiliath.” Éomer was positive Faramir was being slightly manipulative when the captain walked to the open balcony under his own power. Éomer smiled to himself as he watched the other man lean on the railing and stare out at the city. The young king followed him to see the demolished Minas Tirith beneath them.

“I’m sorry.” Éomer said, not looking at Faramir, but instead at the city, motivating himself into his responsibilities by observing the destruction Sauron’s forces had wrought.

“The guards told me that most of the civilians had been evacuated to the upper levels before the battle even started.” Faramir said.

“Still,” Éomer leaned on the railing, “Those people were your friends and family.”

“It’s no worse than what you endured, both at the Battle of Helms Deep and here.” Faramir said.

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” Éomer replied. He felt Faramir’s gaze on him and turned his head. Faramir was silhouetted by the setting sun and Éomer felt his heart leap to his throat.

“I hope you survive.” The captain murmured. Éomer didn’t speak. He couldn’t bring himself to break the image before him. They stared at each other for long moments before Éomer stepped closer, pressing the side of his body against Faramir’s. He offered his physical presence as support for the other man, hoping he understood everything Éomer was trying to convey. Faramir’s hand came out and rested on Éomer’s and he turned back to his city, taking in every detail of the devastation.

“In any case,” Éomer brought them out of silence, “I hope my sister finds someone worthy of her love.”

“Amrothos was injured in the battle.” Faramir replied. “A poisoned arrow to the thigh. Lothíriel says Aragorn insists that he is doing well. I’ll introduce Éowyn to him while you’re gone.”

“Thank you.” Éomer turned to smile gratefully at the other man and found their faces closer than he would have expected. Faramir blushed, but didn’t avert his gaze. Éomer thought of all his responsibilities as future king of Rohan, all the potential outcomes of the future march to the Black Gates, every possible bad thing that could happen to destroy any potential for happiness he might have if he stayed with the idea of pursuing Faramir.

And promptly ignored all of them.

Slowly, giving Faramir all the time in the world to escape, Éomer closed the distance between them. Their lips met, both slightly chapped from slight dehydration, and all Éomer wanted was to be able to hold and love the man next to him for the rest of their lives. For some reason, that was all that mattered to him anymore. The kiss was gentle, sweet and more than anything Éomer had ever experienced. When they finally broke apart, Éomer rested his forehead against Faramir’s, breathing in the scent of the captain. They stood like that for a long time before Éomer pressed a kiss to Faramir’s forehead and turned back to the city, wrapping an arm around Faramir’s shoulders in a gentle embrace. Faramir relaxed against him, staring out at the desolation.

They didn’t move until Faramir flinched in pain as his injury started bothering him. Éomer helped the captain back to the bed before visiting his still-unconscious sister. Éowyn didn’t wake up before Éomer started nodding off in his chair.

“You should sleep in an actual bed.” Faramir noted as Éomer stood up to keep himself from falling out of the chair. “Especially when you only have two more nights in a true bed.”

“It’s far too late to find someone who knows where the room assigned to me is.” Éomer shrugged. “And I’d rather be close to you and Éowyn just in case.” Faramir smiled and a light blush covered his features.

“Then stay here.” Faramir shifted over in the bed, showing the expanse of empty space he was inviting Éomer to.

“I wouldn’t wish to presume…”

“You’re not.” Faramir interrupted. “I’m offering, Éomer.”

“Thank you.” Éomer sat on the bed and tugged off his boots before allowing himself to relax on the soft mattress.

“You don’t have to sleep at the edge of the bed.” Faramir sounded amused. “Idiot. I’m not going to hurt you.” Éomer turned to give the captain a wry look.

“That’s not what concerns me, Faramir.” Faramir blushed bright red, but didn’t flinch away from Éomer’s gaze. Finally, Éomer shook his head with a smile and granted himself the leisure of slightly more of the mattress. Faramir gave him a dirty look until he shifted again to take up at least half of the bed. Éomer gave him an amused look and Faramir sniffed haughtily before cuddling up to Éomer, much to the king’s surprise. Adoration filled Éomer’s chest and, wary of the injury that still plagued the captain, he wrapped his arms around Faramir to hold him closer. He allowed himself a moment of selfishness when he pressed another kiss to the man’s forehead before drifting off into sleep.


	2. Faramir

“Stop worrying, ‘Wyn. I’ll be fine.” Faramir awoke to Éomer arguing softly with his sister in the pre-dawn light. The past day had been filled with more laughter and sadness than Faramir could remember. Éomer and Éowyn were both kind and gentle people, despite the king’s outrageous size. The man was built like an oak tree, tall and strong and unbending under the pressures of his kingly duties. Éomer spent his last free day arranging his portion of the march to the Black Gates, making Faramir and Éowyn laugh, and flirting with a blushing Faramir. Éowyn pointed out his blushing at one point, making the flush all the worse. Faramir didn’t know how the king managed to lighten the mood so thoroughly without losing sight of his responsibilities. Éomer spent his last night in Faramir’s bed again, enveloping Faramir in warmth and safety.

“I’ll stop worrying when you come back safe, ‘Mer.” Éowyn replied, worry making her tone biting and harsh. Faramir blinked his eyes open to see the king had already donned his armor and held his helmet in his hands. Another man, similarly dressed, stood anxiously next to the door, waiting to leave. Faramir assumed it was Éomer’s second, trying to keep him to a schedule. Faramir stood up and walked to the balcony, trying to give them more privacy. He glanced back at the sound of Éomer’s voice, catching a glimpse of his warm eyes.

“Relax.” Éomer pressed a kiss to Éowyn’s forehead and brushed hair from her face. “Get well. I’ll return and then we can discuss your potential suitors.”

“I love you, ‘Mer.” Éowyn blinked back tears and hugged him tightly.

“I love you, too, ‘Wyn.” Éomer straightened and looked at Faramir. Embarrassed, Faramir turned back to the city, watching as the approaching dawn began filling the city with grey light. Faramir felt Éomer approach him silently. The warmth that had eased Faramir into a deep sleep during the past two nights was back at his side as Éomer leaned against the railing next to him.

“I wish you good fortune on the march ahead.” Faramir said, not looking at the young king.

“Thank you.” Éomer said politely. He was always so polite. “Good luck with your recovery. And good luck when you deal with my sister.” Faramir couldn’t help the smile even though it was likely Éomer would die. His heart sank. The man was kind and gentle in a way that Faramir wouldn’t have expected from the Rohirrim Boromir had told him about. Boromir respected him, which probably biased Faramir’s first impression, but Faramir couldn’t care anymore. The king had managed to worm his way into Faramir’s affections from the first night when Faramir caught him staring. Éomer had looked shocked and utterly adorable in that first moment. Then, his next actions helped Faramir from eternal embarrassment as Éomer held him back from attacking Aragorn in pain.

“I’m sure I’ll need all the luck I can get.” Faramir teased. Éomer chuckled then Faramir’s eyes met the chocolate brown of the king and his heart stuttered.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Éomer said, wrapping an arm around the captain’s shoulders and hugging tightly. Faramir hugged him back.

“You had better be.” He murmured. “I don’t know if I can deal with Éowyn by myself.”

“She  _is_  a brat.” Éomer chuckled in Faramir’s ear. Faramir looked up at the absurdly tall man and Éomer stole a gentle kiss, making Faramir’s heart race. Their first kiss had stolen his breath and heart at once and they hadn’t kissed once since. Faramir figured it was the king being polite, as he was want to do, but it was also probably to save Éowyn’s feelings. Regardless, Faramir was not the least bit prepared when Éomer kissed him again, so his heart still beat wildly and his breath still stopped in his chest.

“Éomer…” Faramir didn’t know what he was going to say, but the king stopped him with another kiss.

“Faramir,” Éomer smiled, “In the deepest, calmest hours of the night when you have naught but your own company, I hope my image fills you with bliss*.” Faramir blinked, feeling his heart stop as his jaw threatened to drop and his face tried to set itself on fire. Had Éomer just…? Based upon the mischievous grin on the king’s features, he had indeed. Faramir couldn’t stop the blush as his mind replayed the words over and over. Faramir could hardly believe that Éomer had just told him that he wanted Faramir to masturbate to thoughts of him.

“You’re incorrigible.” Faramir couldn’t help the chuckle and Éomer grinned, sneaking another kiss.

“That I am.” Éomer stepped away, making a knot wrangle itself into Faramir’s chest. “Just ask ‘Wyn. I’ll be back, my dear captain, and we’ll discuss my last request  _in detail_.” Faramir felt his flush deepen and he laughed through his embarrassment, making Éomer smile warmly.

“Ensure that you return.” Faramir leaned against the balcony, tilting his head in amusement. “I’d hate for the fruits of my labor to go unrewarded.” A blush erupted on Éomer’s face and the king smiled wryly.

“Of course.” He bowed, taking Faramir’s hand and kissing it. “Until I return.” With that, the king returned to his second, who looked more amused than anything else. Faramir watched Éomer depart before turning to watch the armies gather outside the gates of Minas Tirith. He watched the sun creep over the horizon and spill golden light across the combined forces of Rohan and Gondor. He spotted the golden-clad armor of Éomer and smiled to himself.

“He truly cares for you.” Faramir managed to withhold his jump of surprise as Éowyn joined him.

“I know.” Faramir replied, unable to hide his grin. Éowyn smiled at him. A thought flashed through Faramir’s mind and his smile abruptly faded. Éowyn’ eyes narrowed at him.

“You’re thinking.” She accused. “And that never bodes well in matters of the heart.”

“He is king. He will need heirs.” Faramir shrugged. “As much as we might care for each other, it cannot be.” Éowyn snorted an unladylike curse and Faramir looked at her, surprised.

“Pardon me, I am but a humble lady of Rohan,” She rolled her eyes, “And I do not know the ways of those in Gondor, but who cares?” Faramir felt his jaw drop. “Éomer will be a great king and the men of Rohan will wish for his happiness. If it is another man who gives their king that, who are they to judge? If he adopts all of the orphans in Rohan and Gondor and  _that_  makes him happy, who are they to judge? If he names  _me_  his heir, who are they to judge?” Éowyn smiled wryly, her face contorting identically to Éomer’s. “In Rohan, it is what a man  _does_  that determines his worth as king, not whether he has blood-related children.”

“Does Éomer feel the same way, milady?” Faramir asked. “Does he not want children of his own?”

“He does.” Éowyn admitted. “He loves children. He always has. That being said, he has always known he would have to adopt them if he wanted any.” It took Faramir a moment to understand her meaning.

“Always?” He asked. Éowyn smiled.

“Always.” She confirmed. “The male form has always held more pleasure for him than that of a female. My brother and I are identical in  _that_  respect.” Faramir smiled again and turned back to the departing armies.

“I do not know what will happen between us.” He admitted.

“Nor should you.” Éowyn replied.

“I will do everything I can to see you as happy as I am.” Faramir promised her. Éowyn hugged him gently.

“Do not trouble yourself.” She murmured. Faramir rolled his eyes, knowing the battle between Éowyn and his cousin would be hard won. It would be worth it to see Éomer’s face finally light up in happiness without the flicker of concern and sadness for his sister behind his eyes.

“I promised your brother I would take care of you.” Faramir said. Éowyn rolled her eyes.

“Of course you did.”

“And that means seeing you find a man who truly loves you.” Faramir finished.

“You’re both so stubborn.” Éowyn frowned, turning back to the mass of warriors leaving the fields.

“Perhaps.” Faramir hugged her from behind, lending her his strength. They stood until the sun had risen high in the sky and the black dots that represented the forces of Men were lost to the horizon.

The next week was the miserable for Faramir. He knew it would take at least that long for them to reach Morannon, but he also knew how every day would be a danger, both in riding and in the potential bands of orcs and wildmen that stood between Minas Tirith and Morannon. He managed to distract both himself and Éowyn by introducing her to his cousin. Amrothos fell for her instantly, making Faramir laugh hysterically. Éowyn was a little slower to fall for his charms, as the idiot  _was_  charismatic, but she had been too badly hurt to be swept away by him so easily. Amrothos was patient though and didn’t give up easily. Faramir enjoyed the time and effort Amrothos went into in order to better woo Éowyn and he knew that Éowyn appreciated the effort. He knew that  _Éomer_  would appreciate the effort almost more than his sister. Éomer…

Every thought somehow led to the king and every instance the king filled his mind he recalled the danger and improbability of Éomer surviving the mission he had departed on. It hurt more than he thought it would, to imagine life if Éomer didn’t come back. Well, he mused, if everything failed, he wouldn’t be miserable for too long. He didn’t want to think of the possibility of Man succeeding and Éomer falling in the hard-won victory. Despite the negative thoughts that pervaded his mind, he couldn’t keep himself from obeying the last demand Éomer placed upon him. His nights were, true to Éomer’s words, filled with thoughts and images of the king doing vastly inappropriate and impossibly pleasurable things with him. Embarrassment filled him every day as he recalled his nightly ministrations, as well as his fuzzy memories of what happened in the baths when he was still injured, but he couldn’t keep himself from stopping enjoying the memories and fantasies. Part of Faramir was deeply annoyed that of all the things he could be suffering from, a lack of sex with his partner was what was plaguing his mind. He almost wished Éomer was suffering just as much except he knew how dangerous such a distraction could be on the battlefield.

It was another week before Gondor received any word of what happened at the Black Gates. Amrothos never left Éowyn’s side anymore and, if her giggling was anything to measure it by, she had finally given in to his affections. Faramir abruptly knew how Éowyn had felt before Éomer left for the battle. It hurt, seeing one person you cared about fall in love when you didn’t have a love of your own. Faramir spent as much time as he could training and working through his injury, hoping he could finally be back to normal soon. Loud cheering broke out in the streets and the bells began ringing. Faramir turned toward the balcony in surprise, ignoring how Amrothos literally fell off Éowyn’s bed, when the horns blasted.

The horns of Rohan.

As well as the horns of Gondor, but Faramir didn’t focus on that as he sprinted to the balcony, nearly throwing himself off as he spotted the army trailing over the horizon. They were too far out to spot any individual, but the army was significantly smaller than it had been when they left. Faramir’s heart fluttered as Éowyn and Amrothos joined him on the balcony.

“I know those horns.” Éowyn gasped, tears running down her face.

“They’re back.” Amrothos agreed, hugging her tightly.

“We’ll have an hour before they reach the gate.” Faramir heard his voice, as if from far away. He turned from the balcony and ran to his bed, shoving his feet into his boots.

“Can we meet them there?” Éowyn asked, eyes wide. Faramir shot her a grin.

“I’m the Captain of Gondor. We can go wherever we please.”

Less than five minutes later, they were leaving the Houses of Healing for the first time since they had been brought in. Whoever Aragorn had left to keep an eye on all his patients was a ridiculously stubborn man who was given authority over the guards in the Houses, preventing Faramir from leaving every single time. The arrival of the army, however, had stolen everyone’s attention, so all three of them were able to get out without being stopped. They hurried down to the gate, which took a half hour by itself, where the majority of Minas Tirith had gathered, waiting for the armies to return with baited breath. Faramir led Amrothos and Éowyn to a small alcove that was above the crowd, granting them a better view of the gates. True to Faramir’s word, it took another half hour before the beginnings of the army got close to the gate.

“Make a path to the Houses of Healing!” The first person through the gate was a courier. Immediately, people shoved to the edges of the street, trying to make enough room for the mass of warriors and horses into the city. It wasn’t ten minutes before haggard and wearily happy men streamed through the gates. With bated breath, Faramir watched the warriors get recognized as tears of joy flowed. Tears of pain wouldn’t happen until the entire army had entered and individuals were recognized as missing. People started cheering in earnest as Aragorn entered the gates with his envoy on his heels. Gandalf, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, and Éomer.

Instantly, something inside Faramir broke and he had to bite back the tears that threatened to spill in relief. Éowyn had no such qualms and she burst into ecstatic sobs. Amrothos hugged her, smiling happily as his two brothers also followed behind the kings. Éomer’s eyes shot up to the Houses and he smiled to himself, making Faramir grin.

“Éomer!” Éowyn called. Éomer turned his head sharply, hearing his name over the din of cheers, but unable to locate the source. Faramir joined his voice to hers, but Éomer couldn’t find them before he had already passed by.

“Come on.” Faramir led Éowyn and Amrothos through the crowd. “They’ll go to the throne room first thing to meet with the leaders and inform them of what happened.”

“We won’t be able to beat them there.” Éowyn replied, gesturing to the mass of people in the streets. Amrothos and Faramir shared an amused glance.

“You’re with two natives of Minas Tirith.” Amrothos teased her gently. “Trust me, we’ll beat them there.” Éowyn still looked disbelieving until Faramir and Amrothos led her to a narrow alley she had never seen before.

“This goes all the way through the levels?” She asked, staring up the steep path, mouth open.

“Yep.” Amrothos grinned. “We could walk and take frequent breaks and still be there before anyone else taking the normal route.”

“These are the drains.” Faramir explained as they made their way up. “We needed some way to get the water out from the top of the city without flooding every level beneath.”

“I see.” Éowyn smiled, wiping the tears from her face. It only took them fifteen minutes to get to the top of Minas Tirith and go to the throne room, where all the city leaders waited. It didn’t take another five for the doors to be thrown open by the guards for Aragorn to enter with Éomer at his heels. Éomer’s eyes found Faramir, Éowyn, and Amrothos and his body froze for an instant before he dodged past Aragorn. Faramir felt his heart leap happily, but he knew the king would go for his sister first. The bond between the siblings was strong, just like his bond had been with Boromir. He was understandably surprised when Éomer swept him into his arms first.

Faramir felt Éomer relax into the hug, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The king allowed Faramir’s feet back onto the floor before kissing him soundly. Whatever potential embarrassment Faramir might have had died in the wake of Éomer’s adoration. By the time he was released, Faramir was breathless and completely in love with the overly-huge idiot before him. Éomer swept his sister into a bear hug almost immediately after, spinning her around as she started crying again. Faramir glanced over at the rest of the company in the hall, face bright red, to discover that absolutely no one was paying attention to them. Well, Pippin’s ears were bright red, indicating that he  _had_  been watching, but not a single pair of eyes was focused on the reunion.

“This is Amrothos, ‘Mer.” Éowyn introduced her brother to the man who had captured her heart. Faramir looked at Éomer as the king’s eyebrow shot up, his eyes focusing on how Éowyn’s hand joined with Amrothos. He glanced at Faramir, who shrugged and indicated his cousin.

“You break her heart and I’ll break you.” Éomer said calmly.

“Éomer!” Éowyn glowered at her brother.

“I’d give myself to you willingly.” Amrothos said, just as calmly.

“Amrothos!” Éowyn rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“If you hurt my cousin, I’ll kill you.” Amrothos continued as if Éowyn hadn’t spoken. Faramir turned bright red and shoved his face into his hands.

“Frankly,” Éomer draped an arm over Faramir’s shoulders, “I think he’d kill me first.” Faramir gave Éomer a withering look. Amrothos dragged Éowyn into a kiss, happily ignoring Éomer and Faramir. The king pressed a kiss to Faramir’s head and glanced at the meeting going on at the other side of the room, obviously thinking about how he should be present for it. A tiny voice of mischief spoke up in Faramir’s mind and a grin spread of his features. Standing on his toes, because the king was impossibly tall, Faramir managed to reach Éomer’s ear.

“In the deepest, calmest hours of the night when I had naught but my own company, your image  _did_  fill me with bliss.” He muttered. Instantly, Éomer’s entire posture stiffened and his eyes widened. He growled darkly at the captain, who kept his face neutral as Éowyn returned her attention to them. Faramir watched amused as Éomer warred with himself for a long moment. With a heavy sigh, Éomer released Faramir and joined the other group, shooting the captain a dark look that promised all the pleasure Faramir had been dreaming about for the past fortnight.

“What did you say?” Éowyn asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I don’t think you want to know.” Amrothos muttered, glancing between Éomer’s dark looks at Faramir and the blush on Faramir’s ears. Éowyn opened her mouth to speak, but spotted Éomer’s stiff posture and her mouth snapped shut, a blush covering her features.

“You’re worse than he is!” She accused finally.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Faramir replied, sniffing haughtily. Éowyn gave him a look that said he was fooling no one.

“Then what did you say to my brother?” She asked.

“I merely reminded him of the request he made of me before he left and how I fulfilled said request.” Faramir managed to fight back the blush that threatened to give his words a worse connotation. Éowyn’s eyes narrowed.

“What sort of request?” She asked.

“I don’t want to know!” Amrothos whined. “Please don’t tell me! Tell her if you want just not near me!”

“Fine.” Éowyn pouted. “Don’t tell.”

“I need to go meet up with my brothers.” Amrothos said.

“They’ll probably head to the Houses, first.” Éowyn suggested. “To check on you. They’d assume Lothíriel would be with you.”

“Oh, no.” Amrothos flinched at his sister’s name. “I didn’t tell her I was leaving the Houses. She’s going to  _kill_  me!”

“Amrothos…” Éowyn rolled her eyes at the man’s childish behavior. “Let’s go.”

“But, ‘Wyn!”

“Come on, you big baby.” Éowyn pulled him towards the door. “Faramir, will you tell ‘Mer that we’re probably going to have dinner with Am’s family?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she left with her future husband in tow.

“I have to go see to my patients.” Aragorn announced, pulling Faramir’s attention from laughing at Amrothos getting dragged away by Éowyn to watching how the hobbit looked at the king expectantly. “We’ll start with Sam and Frodo before we check on Merry.” Aragorn looked faintly amused by how Pippin grinned in relief. Faramir chuckled as the hobbit practically dragged the King of Gondor towards the Houses of Healing. Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf all laughed as they followed the King and hobbit more sedately. Éomer returned to Faramir’s side, his brown eyes impossibly darker as he narrowed his eyes at the captain.

“Éowyn and Amrothos will be spending the evening with his family.” Faramir relayed the message obediently.

“I see.” Éomer’s expression didn’t shift an inch. “And what about you?” Faramir blinked in surprise and abruptly realized that Éomer was giving him yet another chance to back out. Rolling his eyes fondly, the captain pressed a kiss to Éomer’s chin, which was the only thing he could reach.

“I believe that  _someone_  owes me a reward for the completion of the request he gave to me.” Faramir couldn’t stop the blush, but he did feel smug at the uncontrollable lust in the king’s eyes.

“Of course.” Éomer’s hand touched Faramir’s jaw and a spark of tenderness appeared through his desire. “How dare I forget?” Abruptly, Faramir realized that the king was waiting for him to take the lead. Since the king had never taken advantage of the hospitality Aragorn offered him, Éomer didn’t have anywhere to stay and would have no idea where he was going even if he  _had_  been given a room.

“Uh, do you want a tour of the palace?” Faramir asked, biting his lip.

“Drawing out your reward, I see.” Éomer teased. “Lead on.” Faramir flushed again, knowing the king was flirting and enjoying every moment of it. Faramir walked through the halls of the palace, telling Éomer every little detail about the history or art or architecture that he had learned in his studies with Gandalf. Éomer absorbed the knowledge with the same reverence and respect Faramir always had, making Faramir smile in the thought that he had chosen well. They were nearly to his rooms and had explored every inch of the palace when he realized that he had been saying goodbye to Minas Tirith the entire time.

“What’s wrong?” Éomer asked, making Faramir realize that he had stopped moving in the middle of his stride.

“Nothing.” Faramir shook his head, recalling every detail about the tour he had been giving and knowing in his heart that he wouldn’t be living there anymore. He didn’t know if he would be with Éomer, considering they had never discussed it, but he knew that the pain of his father’s death compounded upon the death of his brother would never allow him to live in the palace again. A deep sadness filled his chest and he opened his mouth to speak when Éomer kissed him gently.

“Talk to me.” The king asked softly. Faramir shrugged, not knowing what words he could use to explain the pain of leaving his childhood home for forever and the guilt of feeling a little happy at the potential adventure of living somewhere else and learning the culture of that other place.

“I’m… saying goodbye.” Faramir finally forced the words out. Understanding filled Éomer’s worried gaze and he smiled gently.

“Where will you go?” Éomer asked.

“I…” Faramir wanted to say “with you”, but he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t force himself upon the king in that way, not when they hadn’t even talked about their future or if “they” was even possible. Faramir sighed heavily and shrugged instead of replying.

“You don’t have to decide.” Éomer said. “And you don’t even have to tell me. But, just know, Faramir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor, that there will always be a place for you in Edoras.”

“In Edoras?” Faramir couldn’t say if he was thrilled by the invitation or a little upset by the lack of specificity.

“By my side.” Éomer clarified. Faramir’s heart stopped. “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you’d rather stay somewhere else and with…  _someone_  else. But, I’ll wait for you. I have to be King of Rohan, so I would have to stay in Edoras, and I wouldn’t be able to travel as much, but you would always be welcome by my side. Of course, that’s assuming you’d even  _want_  to be there, which, if you don’t, you don’t have to…” Faramir couldn’t hold in the laughter that bubbled up when Éomer started babbling. The king quickly shut his mouth at Faramir’s chuckling.

“You’d keep me by your side?” Faramir asked.

“As long as you’d want to be there.” Éomer promised.

“And if I wanted to travel?” Faramir asked.

“I’d wait.” Éomer promised. The honesty in Éomer’s face made Faramir’s chest tighten with unexpressed emotion. He made his decision and grabbed Éomer’s arm, dragging him the rest of the way to his rooms. Éomer stayed silent, but his confusion and worry were written all over his face. It wasn’t until Faramir shoved him back against the door to shut it and kissed him deeply that Éomer relaxed. The king’s arms wrapped around Faramir as Faramir’s fingers buried themselves in the dirty blond locks. They kissed for a long time, Faramir attempting to relay all the feelings he felt because of Éomer’s stuttering offer through their contact.

“Does that mean you want to stay with me?” Éomer asked, hope shining in his eyes.

“Of course I do.” Faramir couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled from his throat. “I love you, Éomer.” The bright smile that covered the king’s entire face and filled his eyes to the brim made Faramir’s heart stutter. He had been waiting for that smile since Éomer left in the first place.

“I love you, Faramir.” Éomer pulled Faramir into a gentle kiss. The kiss was long, slow, and languidly comfortable. Faramir would have enjoyed it much more if the fantasies from his dreams weren’t flitting through his mind. Impatience filled him and he tugged on Éomer’s hair, exposing the king to a tiny amount of pain and deepening their kiss to one borne of fiery passion and lust. They broke apart, gasping for air, and Faramir started tugging on the armor Éomer wore. Éomer chuckled and Faramir shot him a dark glower, silently threatening bad things unless the king helped. Obediently, Éomer loosened straps and pulled the leather and metal from his form until all that remained was his undershirt and pants.

“Patience, Far.” Éomer chuckled as Faramir wasted no time in removing the layers of cloth off his torso. Faramir kissed him hungrily, drawing a growl from Éomer’s throat as his fingers explored the large expanse of gold skin. Muscles rippled under said skin, the scars taunting Faramir’s curiosity and making his arousal heighten. He had always been attracted to men, and the man before him was the most physically attractive being Faramir had ever encountered,  _especially_  because of the battle scars. Faramir couldn’t help his desire to map them out with his fingers and tongue and lips and–

“I have  _been_  patient, ‘Mer.” Faramir pulled back from the ruthless kiss, gasping as he tugged his own shirt and undershirt off. “For a fortnight. Now, I want my promised prize.” Éomer laughed as the captain shoved him down onto the bed with a grin. Faramir had bedded women before, it would practically be a crime if he hadn’t, especially as Captain of Gondor, but the hard, unrelenting flesh beneath him was more arousing than any of the soft curves of the women he had bedded. Éomer groaned loudly as Faramir’s teeth scraped against his neck.

“Far…” Éomer groaned as the captain discovered every little twitch and reaction that his teeth and lips drew out of the king. Faramir straddled Éomer, desperately shoving their lips together with bruising force. Faramir rolled his hips, dragging the hard lines of their erections together. A dark growl was dragged from Éomer’s throat and the king’s fingers tugged into Faramir’s hair, rocking his hips upward in time with Faramir’s grinding. Faramir gasped into the kiss, feeling Éomer abruptly take control of the situation. Faramir’s fingers fumbled on the ties to their breeches, trying to get skin-to-skin contact with every inch of his golden king. Éomer rolled them over, pinning Faramir beneath him and swallowing the captain’s groans of pleasure with his kisses.

“More, ‘Mer.” Faramir whined as Éomer pulled back to finish unlacing their pants. The king removed the offending pieces of clothing and Faramir felt his face heat up even through his lust. When Éomer had helped him bathe, Faramir had gotten a long look at the king’s golden body, so size shouldn’t have been a surprise, but the bath they shared was a far cry from the bed they currently occupied. The six-and-a-half-foot tall man was broad and perfectly proportional.  _Everywhere_. Faramir’s mouth dried and he flushed as the thought of actually coupling with  _that_.

“Relax.” Éomer chuckled, digging through his armor and clothes, giving Faramir a perfect view of his entire body. The way the firelight flickered off his skin made the captain’s mouth water. He had the abrupt urge to taste every inch of the man. His thoughts were interrupted as Éomer emerged triumphant, a small bottle in his fingers. Faramir had never coupled with another man, but he was no fool and could tell at a glance was the bottle was for. Instead of uncorking it, the king hovered over Faramir, letting his lips follow the captain’s collarbone.

A deep noise was dragged from Faramir’s throat as Éomer thoroughly distracted him from everything but the mounting lust in his mind and how the godforsaken man was  _not touching him_! Faramir’s erection was nearly painful, but the damnable king was hovering over him, only allowing his lips, tongue, and teeth touch the captain’s body. Faramir was about to start cursing the man above him when Éomer started travelling down his body, letting his tongue and lips explore. Faramir held his breath as the king passed his naval. Éomer chuckled and Faramir choked out a vicious curse, making Éomer laugh harder.

“Relax, Far.” Faramir felt an intrusion as soon as the words were out of Éomer’s mouth. There was no pain, but it wasn’t precisely comfortable. Then, Éomer swallowed down his erection and Faramir swore loudly. He glanced down at the smug and amused king and rolled his eyes. It wasn’t long before the finger was joined by another finger, making the stretch much more uncomfortable and a little painful. The friction and pleasure provided by the king’s scorching mouth was more than enough to make Faramir forget the pain. Éomer’s fingers did  _something_  because one moment Faramir was desperately trying to keep himself relaxed and the next he was gasping for air and arching his back in pure desire.

“What was that?” He gasped, chest heaving as he stared down at the king. Éomer pulled a shiver out of Faramir with one last lick to his erection before smirking at him.

“That, my dear Faramir, is the reason men enjoy this so much.” Éomer chuckled, twisting his fingers and making the captain have another mini-seizure of pleasure. Faramir started cursing and swearing as Éomer continued to tease him. Finally, he was hushed by a long kiss. Éomer snickered. “I didn’t realize that your vocabulary rivaled that of my sister’s.”

“Don’t talk about her right now.” Faramir ordered, dragging Éomer back into another kiss. “And  _stop_  teasing!”

“As you wish.” Éomer grinned. The captain was disappointed when Éomer withdrew his fingers and it must have shown on his face because Éomer chuckled again. When the king finally sank into Faramir’s heat, Faramir was  _positive_  that he had never thought that pain was as pleasurable as he had in that moment. The pain was gone in the instant when Éomer somehow found that stupid spot that made the captain forget his own name. Faramir focused on the man above him and felt a surge of pride in his chest when he saw how close to losing control Éomer actually was. He was alternating between breathing in sharply and biting his bottom lip. His forehead was furrowed and his eyes spoke of the mythical wildness of the Rohirrim that Faramir had always heard from his father.

“Why did you stop?” Faramir accused, relishing in the way Éomer’s eyes widened slightly in unrestrained lust. Faramir rolled his hips and Éomer growled darkly, kissing Faramir almost violently.

“I’m trying to…” Éomer’s hips snapped forward, seemingly out of his control, and he shut his eyes tightly. “Get my control back.” His voice was gruff and down almost a full octave from his normal cadence, making Faramir shiver in need. The captain didn’t  _want_  controlled. He wanted to see how much he had affected the King of Rohan. He wanted to see how much power he had over Éomer. Faramir rolled his hips again and Éomer growled again.

“Stop it.” Faramir ordered. Éomer’s eyes opened and a hint of worry lurked behind his eyes, making Faramir annoyed and grateful at once.

“I can’t… I won’t be able to be gentle.” Éomer pressed their foreheads together and breathed deeply. “I don’t want to hurt you.  _Fuck_ , you feel so  _good_.”

“Idiot.” Faramir breathed. “I don’t  _want_  gentle. I want you to show me how much you want me. I want you to prove your barbarism, Rohirrim.”

“You’ll regret that, Gondorian.” Faramir watched the worry get lost behind the lust and need in Éomer’s eyes. “If I do something…”

“You  _won’t_!” Faramir snapped. “Now, fuck me, Éomer.”

Éomer obeyed without another word. Faramir gasped for air as the man above him let go of his control completely, allowing his hips to slam against Faramir’s over and over again. Pleasure built itself up on a fragile precipice in Faramir’s gut. The wildness that his father always warned him to be wary of regarding the Rohirrim came out in full force. The primal need in Éomer’s face and eyes made Faramir impatient and hyper and –  _fuck, what was that?!_

Faramir’s fingers dug into Éomer’s biceps and he could feel himself begging for more with both his words and his body language. One of Éomer’s hands held tight to Faramir’s hips while the other kept him from falling on top of the captain. Faramir felt so full: physically, emotionally, and mentally. He couldn’t focus on anything aside from the need in his gut. He  _needed_  to find release. His breath stuttered and his eyes shut as the sensation built like a tidal wave. He simultaneously wanted to stay underneath Éomer with the delicious friction and the constant stimulation forever and also  _needed_  to release.

A dark growl echoed from Éomer’s chest and Faramir realized that he started begging Éomer for more, more,  _more_. The thrusting sped up and became harder, shoving the breath from Faramir’s lungs. The hand on Faramir’s hip shifted to grasp his erection in a tight grip. Éomer growled again and kissed Faramir desperately, stealing all of the air from the captain. Faramir felt every muscle in his body tense and he thought he was going to die of pleasure. He wasn’t sure how long he stood on the edge of the precipice, but the tidal wave finally hit him and air burst from his lungs as his body jolted and he released all over both himself and Éomer. It wasn’t long until Éomer’s hips stuttered against Faramir’s, making the captain moan softly as the king gasped out his release into Faramir’s neck.

Faramir relaxed onto the bed, breathing hard and running his fingers along the golden scars on Éomer’s back while the king shuddered above him, trying to regain his control. Éomer pressed a gentle kiss to Faramir’s neck, which turned into butterfly kisses along Faramir’s collarbone before he stole Faramir’s breath again. The man was  _far_  too good at kissing. They rested like that for a long time before Éomer’s arm trembled, threatening to deposit the man on top of Faramir. Groaning, Éomer rolled off Faramir and sat on the edge of the bed, rolling his head to stretch his neck before standing on unsteady legs.

“Having trouble?” Faramir asked, grinning even though his voice was slightly hoarse. He hadn’t thought he had been that loud.

“No thanks to you.” Éomer replied, his voice just as hoarse. Faramir blamed it on the growling. Éomer stole the cloth Faramir typically used for drying his face after washing and dipped it in the basin of water before cleaning Faramir’s seed from his stomach and hand. The king made his way back to the bed and collapsed next to Faramir, handing the cloth off dutifully.

“What? You aren’t going to clean me yourself?” Faramir teased, wiping the sticky mess from his skin.

“Again?” Éomer grinned cheekily. Faramir chucked the cloth off the bed, not caring where it landed and he turned his head to observe his lover. His lover. The words brought a smile to Faramir’s face. Éomer turned his head and quirked one eyebrow up, his brown eyes warm and contented. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Faramir rolled over, presenting the king with his back. Immediately, Éomer took the bait, spooning up behind the captain to get a better response.

“Tell me.” He demanded.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Mer.” Faramir pressed a kiss to the underside of Éomer’s chin.

“Far…” Éomer narrowed his gaze, but gave up without a fight, kissing Faramir’s temple.

“Where you serious about the offer?” Faramir asked.

“Of course.” Éomer wrapped his arms securely around Faramir, making the captain smile and snuggle back. “You’re stuck with me, now, Far. I’m kidnapping you to Edoras and making you my king.”

“King?” Faramir blinked. He thought he was going to be Éomer’s lover, but he didn’t think that the idiot would actually  _marry_  him.

“Of course.” Éomer yawned into Faramir’s shoulder. “We’d have to find a way to differentiate between us so people don’t get confused, but it’ll all work out. Éowyn’ll help.”

“Is this your way of proposing?” Faramir turned almost all the way around to quirk an eyebrow at his lover.

“Um…” Éomer blinked slowly. “Yes?” Faramir rolled his eyes and scoffed, presenting the king with his back in order to better hide his grin. “Far?” Éomer sat up and put a hand on Faramir’s shoulder, worried. Faramir looked up at his golden lover.

“You owe me the best damn wedding in the history of Arda.” Éomer caught sight of the smile underneath Faramir’s fake pout and he rolled his eyes.

“You are a little shit.” Éomer flopped back down onto the bed, cuddling up behind the captain. “I’ll get Éowyn on helping us with the damn wedding. She wouldn’t stay out even if we asked her to, anyway. And, she’s got better taste than I do.”

“Isn’t  _that_  the truth?” Faramir mumbled. He didn’t have to turn around to know his lover was pouting. He could practically  _hear_  it.

“So…” Éomer kissed Faramir’s shoulder. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course. Idiot.” Faramir allowed the king to steal a kiss. “Now, rest, ‘Mer. We have a lot to do in the morning.”

“I just got back from helping save the world!” Éomer whined. “Don’t I get a day off?”

“Nope.” Faramir chuckled. Mischievous lips and teeth nibbled at the base of Faramir’s neck making the captain shiver and glower over his shoulder at his lover.

“I bet I can convince you to take at least the morning off.” Éomer grinned.

“We’ll see tomorrow.” Faramir rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep, ‘Mer.”

“Yes, Far.” Éomer was pouting again, but he relaxed against Faramir obediently. Éomer snuggled as close as he could and enveloped Faramir in warmth. Faramir relaxed and shut his eyes, letting his recent release cloud his mind and Éomer’s warmth put him to sleep.

* * *

“Welcome back, my king.” Faramir looked up from grooming the horse Éomer had loaned him to see a man enter the stables. Éomer turned to him with a bright smile before they embraced.

“Gamling, you  _know_  I haven’t been crowned, yet.” Éomer chuckled. Faramir turned back to the horse and kept washing the sweat from the animal’s body. He treated the horses of Rohan with great respect, admiring their breeding and obedience. The instant he saw Faramir’s infatuation with the horses of Rohan, Éomer promised the ex-captain one of the prize horses from the stables of Edoras as a wedding present. Faramir flushed bright red and stuttered out thanks before Éomer kissed him.

“It is only a matter of time, my lord.” Gamling replied, mouth turning up in a smile before he spotted Faramir. “Who is this?” Faramir obligingly stepped forward to greet the man.

“This is Faramir, son of Denethor, former Captain of Gondor.” Éomer said, his smile never dimming. “And my fiancé.”

“Congratulations, my lord.” Gamling smiled, bowing to both Faramir and Éomer. “Have you determined a date as of yet?”

“Not yet.” Faramir answered in response to Éomer’s look. “We’re hoping to get Éowyn’s input, once she’s done with  _her_  wedding.”

“I see.” Gamling nodded sagely. “Is that where your sister got off to? She found a husband?”

“Yes.” Éomer sighed in relief. “She’s marrying Amrothos, son of Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, and cousin to my Faramir.”

“Well, she’ll be giving him plenty of trouble, I’m sure.” Gamling grinned. “At any rate, I’ll go ensure that everything is taken care of.”

“Thank you, Gamling.” Éomer smiled. The man bowed again before departing the stables.

“That was…” Faramir didn’t know how to react to the  _lack_  of reaction by Gamling. “Anticlimactic.”

“What, did you think he would throw a fit?” Éomer asked.

“Yes, actually.” Faramir said. “Forgive me, but a king marrying a man in Gondor is impossible. There’s no clear succession.”

“Welcome to Rohan.” Éomer smiled. “Where people learned to ignore the idiosyncrasies of their good kings.”

“You think you’ll be a good king?” Faramir teased.

“I’ll be a great one with you by my side.” Éomer replied. Faramir froze, heart in his throat.

“You…” Faramir blinked and caught sight of the smug grin on his lover’s face. “You are utterly incorrigible.”

“Of course.” Éomer said with a grin, no hint of anything but pure happiness in his eyes. “Now, come, my love, see your new kingdom.” Faramir followed his lover out into the sunshine, happily accepting his new lot in life as a future king. He could hardly wrap his mind around it, but it didn’t matter as long as he had Éomer. The idiot had captured his heart what felt like years before when he was still barely conscious in the Houses of Healing. When Éomer turned around with a mischievous grin on his features, Faramir couldn’t help but laugh as his chest lightened in joy. Oh, they would definitely have their trials, but Faramir knew they’d last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tumblr tag _tea-inthetardis_ wrote the immortal words: “In the deepest, calmest hours of the night when you have naught but your own company, I hope my image fills you with bliss.” The quote made me laugh when I read it and I can see it being used in any fandom and with any ship. It’s that beautiful.


End file.
